


Thinking of England

by veeagainst



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Humor, M/M, Patriotism, Quidditch, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-29
Updated: 2013-08-29
Packaged: 2017-12-24 23:50:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/946166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veeagainst/pseuds/veeagainst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>England hasn't won the Quidditch World Cup since 1866, so Sirius makes the first bet with James that comes to mind: </p><p>James hesitated, then nodded.  “But if England wins, you have to do something outrageous, because the odds are stacked against me.”</p><p>Sirius snorted, and proposed the first thing that came to mind: “If England wins, I’ll go shag Moony wrapped in the flag.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thinking of England

**Author's Note:**

> Well this is a silly little fic, but I quite enjoyed writing it all those years ago for the Dog Days of Summer Challenge on lj and I quite enjoyed reading it again just now. Hope you do as well! Comments welcome!

James and Sirius sat across from one another, centimetres apart, their ears just far enough from the cloth-covered wireless speaker that the sound wasn’t fuzzy and just close enough that they could hear the whistle of expensive broomsticks over well-groomed grass.

‘And it’s a near miss for Cunningham – flying too close to the bludger that time, if he isn’t careful he’ll get his head taken off--’

Clutched between them, St. George’s cross draped across their knees and pooled around their feet.  Each alternately stroked and dug into the thick fabric at the flag’s opposite ends as if this scrap of embroidered cloth contained a totemic power that could influence the game being played out in far-off Melbourne.

‘England’s put together an exquisite team this year, but somehow they just don’t seem to be coming through for this game – a bit of sloppy playing, barely in possession, the score gap’s widening--’

Sirius flung down his end of the flag in disgust.  ‘Two-hundred and three minutes in and we trail by one hundred and thirty,’ he hissed.  ‘We’re fucked.’

‘We’re not,’ James whispered back.  It was five-thirty in the morning and his mother had forbidden them from staying up past five to listen to the game.  ‘We’re not, we’re not, we’re not fucked.’

‘And Doherty is in possession – he’s moving up the field, trailed by Seo and Lee--’

Sirius grabbed up his end of the flag and squeezed again.  He wished, for the ten-thousandth time that early morning, that Remus was there.  Not that Remus could have helped England, but somehow, he would have helped Sirius.  ‘Hell, hell, score, Doherty, score!’

The crowd roared, the announcer said something muffled, the crowd roared again.  James started to chant, ‘Score, score, score,’ under his breath and Sirius shushed him, then took up the chant himself.  The sharp rise in the cloth where the red bar rose up from its field of white dragged against Sirius’s fingers over and over again as he strained to detect anything from the sounds of a crowd half a world away.

‘And, no, Lee’s intercepted the quaffle and is headed back towards the English keeper – and the man can fly, he’s outraced nearly everyone on the field, but it looks as if the English seeker’s spotted something--’

James half came out of his seat while Sirius yanked the flag further onto his lap and pressed his ear against the speaker. 

‘No, no, looks like he was just catching the glint off the Korean seeker’s watch…  And Lee’s scored another goal!  Right between Williamson’s arms!’

‘Fuck!’ Sirius hissed.  ‘England is done for!’

‘Shut up,’ James snapped.  ‘We’ll pull through!’

‘We haven’t since 1866,’ Sirius groaned.  ‘I can’t see us breaking the streak now!’

‘Take it back!’ James snarled, suddenly on his feet.  ‘And stop touching my flag, you unpatriotic git!’

‘It’s not yours!  I bought it!’

‘You stole it, is more like!’

‘I paid for it in blood!  That woman nearly ripped out my hair getting back over the garden wall!’

They heard something above their heads and immediately fell silent, staring up at the ceiling to where James’s parents slept while the announcer continued, ‘The English seeker’s flown off after something, but Seo seems set to score another goal unless Williamson can actually make a save – it would be the first one today if he did--’

‘Bastard,’ James whispered.  He sank back into his seat and glared at Sirius.  ‘Don’t say a bloody word.’

‘Look, mate,’ Sirius began, a pained look on his face.  ‘I love England just as much as you, but it’s just not realistic, we’re just not playing well, maybe it’s the air in the southern hemisphere, being upside down and having their water flush the wrong way down the toilet…’

James glared harder at this evidence of Sirius’s dubious grasp on geography.

‘All I’m saying,’ Sirius said quickly, ‘is that we shouldn’t get our hopes up too high.’

‘Fine,’ James said, ‘but if they do win, and you’re wrong, you owe me.’

‘You want to bet on this?’ Sirius whispered incredulously.

‘And Doherty’s fumbled the quaffle, we’re not sure what’s happened to it… oh there it is, it’s hit Jones on the head.  And mediwizards are coming onto the field.’

James hesitated, then nodded.  ‘But if England wins, you have to do something outrageous, because the odds are stacked against me.’

Sirius snorted, and proposed the first thing that came to mind: ‘If England wins, I’ll go shag Moony wrapped in the flag.’

James glared.  ‘Not so outrageous that you won’t actually do it.’

‘I will,’ Sirius said with a grin.  ‘If England wins, I swear to you, I will shag Moony and this flag will be wrapped around our sweaty bodies when I do it.’

‘Oh, fuck you,’ James said.  ‘Moony would punch you in the face before you even got the flag wrapped around _your_ body.’

The announcer’s voice broke into their argument.  ‘Oh my god, the English keeper has caught the snitch!  The final score is 370 – 360, England!’  They could barely hear the next words over the collective screaming in the stadium.  ‘And the champion of the 1976 Quidditch World Cup is… ENGLAND!’

James flung himself out of his chair, pumping his fist, while Sirius jumped up and started to dance as silently as possible around the Potter’s kitchen, the flag draped over his shoulders.  Outside, they could hear fireworks exploding and people yelling. 

Suddenly, James stopped moving and looked at Sirius. 

Sirius stopped moving too. 

James got a wicked grin on his face and pointed at the fireplace.  ‘Floo.  Now.’

‘James it was… you know, just a joke… I didn’t…’  Sirius ignored the rising wave of terror in his stomach and the accompanying wave of something else slightly further south that always came nowadays with any mention of Moony.  ‘You know, I mean...’

James grinned even wider and stepped close to arrange the edges of the flag at Sirius’s neck like a cravat.  ‘Don’t you look handsome,’ he snickered, unceremoniously shoving Sirius at the fireplace.  ‘Now get to it.  You’ve got a victory to celebrate.’

 

 

Twenty minutes later, after a lot of hard arguing and near brain-exploding nervousness (not to mention an unpleasant scene where James had stolen his trousers and streaked out into the night to join in with his neighbours’ celebration), Sirius Black tumbled out of the Lupin’s fireplace.

He was wearing nothing but the flag of England. 

It was draped low and strategically around his narrow hips. 

Remus was, unsurprisingly, seated alone at his kitchen table.  He was listening to the post-match commentary with a huge grin on his face.

‘Uh, hi, Moony,’ Sirius said, as casually and seductively as he could.

Remus looked away from the wireless and his grin sputtered and then died, to be replaced by a wide-eyed, stunned look. 

‘So, uh, James and I had this, uh, bet, uh…’  Sirius swallowed hard.  ‘Look, can you just maybe suggest to him that I tried to shag you?  Would that be really awful?  Just say I tried to tie you down with the flag and etc., and you fought me off, it was awful, but I tried, right?' 

The look in Remus’s eyes moved away from shock and into something else that made Sirius’s stomach tighten and twist and made the rest of him short out with a shock of his own. 

Remus looked for all the world as if he _wanted_ Sirius to shag him for England.

Remus flexed his long fingers on the tabletop, then abruptly stood up, shut off the wireless, and walked around the table to stand in front of Sirius.  ‘You’d want me to lie to James and say you’d fulfilled the terms of your bet, even if you hadn’t?’ he whispered.  ‘Wouldn’t that be… dishonest?’

Sirius reached out with both arms for support and connected with Remus’s hips.  Remus’s hands descended onto his own and held them there, drawing them close enough that the sagging edges of the flag got caught on the drawstring of Remus’s pyjama trousers.  ‘I wouldn’t… want to be… dishonest…’ Sirius managed.

‘No,’ Remus said, his hands already tugging at the white and red cross of St. George.  ‘We might as well make the best of it.’

‘Yes,’ Sirius breathed, his mouth finding Remus’s neck.  ‘We might as well do our patriotic duty.’

Remus opened the flag.  ‘Let’s celebrate.’


End file.
